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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287678">you're wonder under summer sky</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutniall/pseuds/nothingbutniall'>nothingbutniall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>WTFock | Skam (Belgium)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camping, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, WTFock Season 3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutniall/pseuds/nothingbutniall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two city boys go camping. What could go wrong?</p><p>(Everything, apparently.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you're wonder under summer sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Been a while since I posted a wtfock fic, but the start of season 4 made me realise how much I already miss seeing Robbe and Sander together, and this is the result.</p><p>(Title comes from Harry Styles' Adore You.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Like most of their impulsive decisions, the initial idea had come from Sander. By now, Robbe should know better than to indulge his every whim, but he’s a teenage boy with a limited supply of brain cells and all of them are focused on Sander rather than practicalities.</p><p>And anyway, loads of people go camping every year. It’s not exactly rocket science, is it? Just put some sticks through the tent canvas, blow up an air mattress, and throw a sleeping bag on top of it. Done. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy.</p><p>Robbe fails to see why Jens sends back a string of laughing emojis when he texts him to borrow his tent, or why Zoë gives him a pitying look when he’s excitedly telling her their plans over Facetime.</p><p>“You’ve gone camping with Senne,” he says accusingly, then bites his tongue because Senne has been a taboo subject for months now. He just forgets, sometimes, so used to Zoë and Senne as a two-unity.</p><p>Zoë doesn’t react a strongly as she had done in months prior, just a twitch of her mouth and her eyes glancing down for a second. “Yes, and we had a pop-up tent, and even then Senne nearly set the whole thing on fire because it wouldn’t stay up.” She doesn’t even stumble over his name, and Robbe is glad she seems to have found some peace with the situation.</p><p>“Senne is a drama queen,” Robbe huffs. “I’ll send you a video of us getting our tent up in no time.”</p><p>“Oh Robbie.” Zoë’s voice is soft, just a hint of teasing peeking through. “I admire your confidence.”</p><p>He sticks his tongue out at her, ignoring the pang that shoots through his heart. He misses Zoë, not just for the months he hasn’t seen her because of Covid-19, but for the comfort of her presence, the way they’d built a home in their shared flat.</p><p>He’s glad to be home and he’s glad his mum is well, but the taste of freedom he got in those few autumn months has left him yearning for more.</p><p>Being truly alone with Sander for the first time in too long is definitely seventy-five percent of the reason why he’s excited for their little getaway. They won’t have to keep their ears open to listen out for any footsteps coming down the corridor, or keys getting turned in the front door lock, and they won’t have to swallow all the little noises that are so hard to contain when there are fireworks going off inside their brains.</p><p>He smiles involuntarily just thinking about it, then bites his lip because Zoë is still there, watching him.</p><p>Unlike Milan, Zoë doesn’t feel the need to tease him about the hearts in his eyes, just gives him a smile to match and wishes him a safe trip.</p><p>Maybe Robbe’s imagining things, but he could swear he sees a little glister in her eyes that hasn’t been there since after Senne. He wonders what that is about.</p><p>☆</p><p>Barely twenty-four hours later, Robbe has to admit that Zoë might have had a point.</p><p>He’s not gonna tell her though.</p><p>“Are you <em>sure</em> Jens gave you the right materials?” Sander asks, droplets of sweat beading on his forehead.</p><p>Robbe shrugs. “It’s Jens,” he says as if that explains everything – it probably does.</p><p>He grabs the end of the tent pole, trying to bend it again while Sander acts as counterweight on the other end. The pole, albeit thin, doesn’t give more than a few centimetres.</p><p>“Just our luck that we get the straightest tent pole in the history of tent poles,” Sander grumbles.</p><p>Laughter bubbles up in Robbe’s throat, Sander following not long after, and Robbe lets go of the pole altogether to haul Sander in for a kiss. It’s one of their worse ones, too much teeth due to their smiles, tongues not quite finding a rhythm, the taste of salt lingering on Sander’s lips, but they’re happy, intoxicated on nothing more than each other.</p><p>They manage to turn it into a proper kiss eventually, sweet and drawn out the way summer day snogging is supposed to feel, and when they part, the frustrated furrow between Sander’s eyebrows has smoothened out completely.</p><p>“Let’s try again,” Robbe says, cocking his head at their sad excuse of a tent.</p><p>They both pick up one end, moving it so it bends, and for one short second, Robbe thinks they’ve got it, because the tent takes its shape, and then there is a loud <em>snap</em> and the tent cover is flat on the ground once more.</p><p>Robbe sees Sander’s eyes go wide and he knows he must have the same stricken look on his face.</p><p>“Did we–” Sander starts, not bothering to finish his sentence.</p><p>“Break it?” Robbe grimaces. “I think so.”</p><p>“Right.” Sander purses his lips. “So what, now?”</p><p>Robbe lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “You tell me.”</p><p>Luckily for them, some nearby camping guests that have definitely seen them struggle decide to take pity on them and come over to help them.</p><p>It’s slightly embarrassing, having an eighty-something-year-old man helping you put your tent up, but he’s friendly enough, shaking his head with a smile and telling them that, “Kids these days… You don’t get taught anything in school anymore.”</p><p>They duck their heads to hide their grins, then thank the man when he finishes his rescue mission. There’s a slight kink in the tent canvas where the pole got damaged, but at least it’s standing upright. It’ll do.</p><p>☆</p><p>Their dinner consists of two of the world’s largest pizzas, because they know themselves well enough to realise that cooking on a gas pit would send them straight to A&amp;E, and the camping happens to house a pizzeria that got five stars on TripAdvisor.</p><p>Bellies full of pizza and cheap beer and butterflies, they stumble their way back to the tent, the sun long set and the streetlights not quite bright enough to make out the uneven path near the end of the terrain.</p><p>Their giggles drift away with the breeze that’s come up, a peaceful silence lingering on the camping ground.</p><p>And then Sander shrieks, so loud it must have woken up the people sleeping in the nearby tent, though nobody comes out to reprimand them.</p><p>“What?” Robbe hisses.</p><p>“Something touched me!” Sander hisses back, swatting his hand. “There!” He points at the air in front of them.</p><p>For the first few seconds, Robbe doesn’t see anything, but then he sees the vague outline of something flying around, movements erratic. He squints his eyes. “A bat?”</p><p>“I don’t know, maybe.” Sander’s voice is still a touch too high.</p><p>“Oh my God, look, there’s loads!” Robbe points in the distance, where more of the same black creatures are dancing in the sky.</p><p>Sander groans. “Ew.”</p><p>“Not ew.” Robbe elbows him in the side. “Bats are cool, they’re the only mammals that can fly and they eat loads of insects. And they use echolocation to fly around so sorry, babe, but I don’t think they’d be stupid enough to fly into you.”</p><p>Sander laughs, wrapping his arm around Robbe’s shoulder and pressing a kiss in his hair. “A bat connoisseur, are you?”</p><p>Robbe shakes his head with a smile. “I did a presentation on bats when I was, like, nine or so. Guess some of the facts just stuck.”</p><p>“I still think they’re creepy. Have you ever seen a photo of them hanging down from something, but then the photo is rotated so it looks like they’re standing up? Nightmare material.”</p><p>“Your face rotated is nightmare material, too,” Robbe huffs.</p><p>It earns him a pinch to the shoulder.</p><p>“Be nice to me,” Sander warns him, “we’ve still got to sleep together in that tiny tent.”</p><p>To their relief, said tent is still standing, and they get in quickly, zipping up the door flap to keep out any mosquitos.</p><p>The space is small, just large enough to fit a two-person air mattress, but nonetheless, they manage to get into their sleepwear without kicking the other person in the face. It takes some coaxing from Robbe to convince Sander to go back out and brave the bats to go brush their teeth in the sanitary building halfway across the camping grounds, but eventually, they tumble back into the tent, crushing their shared backpack in the process.</p><p>They’re fully ready for a good sleep.</p><p>None of their intentions to spend most of the night <em>not </em>sleeping have held up, and Robbe is more than content to simply snuggle up into Sander’s side, head on his chest, and breathe him in. Their legs are tangled together like they usually are, and Sander’s hand finds its way to the back of Robbe’s scalp, burrowing his fingers in the curls.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” Robbe yawns. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna wake you up with a surprise.”</p><p>“Breakfast in bed?” Sander asks, a hopeful lilt in his voice.</p><p>Robbe laughs, pressing a kiss to Sander’s chest and letting his hand wander down lower, teasing over the fabric of Sander’s pants. “I was thinking more along these lines,” he murmurs. “But if you prefer breakfast…”</p><p>“No,” Sander says quickly. “We’ll go with your plan.”</p><p>With a smile, Robbe presses another kiss to his chest, darting his tongue out to give Sander’s nipple a lick.</p><p>Sander pulls his head back by his hair, grabbing Robbe’s wrist with his other hand. “Don’t start something you won’t finish,” he warns, a little too breathlessly to be convincing.</p><p>Robbe smiles up at him apologetically, puckering his lips for a real kiss. Sander indulges him, and they kiss lazily for a couple of minutes, no heat behind it.</p><p>Eventually, the tiredness settles in their bones and they’re just moving their lips together without any rhythm to it.</p><p>Sander is the one to pull back, kissing Robbe’s forehead. “Night, baby.”</p><p>“Night. Love you,” Robbe whispers.</p><p>“Lo’ you,” Sander mumbles.</p><p>He has barely finished speaking before Robbe is sound asleep.</p><p>☆</p><p>Apparently, he must have been even more tired than he realised, because when he wakes again, his eyes still sting from exhaustion and his mind feels foggy.</p><p>His hipbone is aching, and he doesn’t understand why until he tries to adjust his position and all he feels is lumpy ground rather than the softness of the air mattress.</p><p>Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand, he sits up and feels around for his phone, switching the torchlight on. The beam of light confirms what he already felt: their air mattress has completely deflated, the material a sad pile of plastic on the ground.</p><p>The sudden brightness wakes Sander up, and he tries to turn away from the source, groaning when he, too, realises their improvised bed has given up on them.</p><p>“What happened?” he asks, voice raspy.</p><p>Robbe shrugs. “I don’t know. Must be a rip somewhere, otherwise there’d still be <em>some</em> air, right?”</p><p>“I guess. I’m not an expert on air mattresses.”</p><p>“Me neither. You were the one who suggested camping.”</p><p>“I’m also the one who suggested to go skydiving one day. Doesn’t mean I’m a professional parachute jumper.”</p><p>Robbe plops down next to Sander again, wincing when his elbow hits the ground harder than he’d intended. “I’m too tired to think about how we can fix this. Let’s go back to sleep and pretend this didn’t happen.”</p><p>And they do try, eyes closed and bodies still, but the slightest movement makes pain jolt up their limbs and rain starts tapping on the tent canvas and the cold from the night starts seeping through the layers of fabric until they’re both shivering in their pants.</p><p>They put on their joggers and jumpers, trying to steal some body heat from each other, but the chill that has settled under their skin never really does leave anymore.</p><p>☆</p><p>Three hours later, the sun rises, and the birds start singing their songs, and Robbe feels dead on his feet.</p><p>He burrows his face in Sander’s neck, basking in the warmth, and peppers featherlight kisses on the junction between his neck and shoulder. He’s not trying to take it any further, the aching in his joints and the exhaustion in his mind too much to love on Sander the way he deserves.</p><p>It sucks (unfortunately not literally) that they can’t take fall advantage of their first night alone since March, without the risk of parents or housemates overhearing them, but Robbe likes this, too. He likes waking up next to Sander and getting to watch him wake up, how his hair is a mess and his lips have gone dry overnight. He likes these unfiltered minutes when Sander’s brain isn’t fully switched on yet and he communicates in touches, his hand trailing up and down Robbe’s arm, his lips on whatever body part is closest.</p><p>Early-morning-Sander is, somehow, impossibly, even softer than wide-awake-Sander. The intensity with which he approaches life is more subdued, all of his attention solely focused on Robbe. It’s a blissful bubble, and Robbe hopes they won’t ever lose this as their love matures.</p><p>If Sander had been hoping for a different kind of wake-up call, he doesn’t mention it, kissing the top of Robbe’s head and then capturing his lips.</p><p>Sander sighs. “I need a two-hour long shower to recover from this night.”</p><p>Robbe smiles. “I think hot water will run out after five minutes, but sure.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Sander groans. “Why did no one tell me how horrible camping actually is? Why didn’t you stop me?”</p><p>“As if you’d let yourself be stopped,” Robbe reminds him gently, tapping a finger on Sander’s nose.</p><p>“Next time I’ve got a stupid idea, please do remind me of this fiasco. I promise it’ll stop me.”</p><p>Robbe grins. “Deal.” He already knows he won’t, too fond of the glister in Sander’s eyes when he’s come up with another exciting plan. Over the past months, Robbe thinks he has become quite good at distinguishing Sander’s own bigger-than-life enthusiasm and the way he gets during an episode, when his actions are laced with a certain kind of franticness.</p><p>“I really do want a shower though,” Sander’s voice interrupts his inner musings.</p><p>They slip on their shoes and find their clothes for the day, strewn about across the small surface of the tent due to their nightly hunt for anything that would keep them warm.</p><p>They should have known the cold night and deflated air mattress wouldn’t be the last misadventure.</p><p>The second Robbe steps out of the tent, his foot gets drenched in a centimetres-deep puddle right in front of their tent opening, cold, muddy water splashing over his shoe and soaking his sock.</p><p>He groans in annoyance, contemplating going back to bed on the air mattress without air and just. Not move.</p><p>“What?” Sander asks, right behind him, followed by a quiet, “Oh.”</p><p>Even without looking at him, Robbe can hear the bitten back giggle in his voice. He lets out a long-suffering sigh and steps over the puddle, silently reaching his hand out for Sander.</p><p>Sander takes it, squeezing his hand as if to say, <em>it’s okay</em>.</p><p>The shower building is empty when they arrive, their first stroke of luck in nearly twenty-four hours, and the hot water supply holds out long enough to make them feel alive again. They take full advantage of the privacy, making up for what they were too tired to do last night or this morning, and Robbe’s mood has improved by approximately two hundred percent by the time they towel themselves dry.</p><p>☆</p><p>By the time they get back to the tent, all their misadventures seem a little less awful already, and even the flattened breakfast sandwiches and croissants they find in their backpack can’t put a damper on things.</p><p>While they’re eating, they bicker about who fell on the backpack and crushed the food, but in the end, they have to admit they’re probably both at fault. The tent just isn’t made to accommodate two growing teenagers.</p><p>However interesting their camping escapade was, by noon, both boys are ready to get back to the concrete jungle of Antwerp city, and they make quick work of stuffing their belongings in their backpack before unzipping the two sleeping bags that made up a big one.</p><p>Rolling them up only takes the boys seconds, but when Robbe goes to grab the covers, he quickly realises they have a problem.</p><p>Again.</p><p>“This isn’t going to fit,” he says.</p><p>Sander is more confident. “Yes, it will.” He puts the end of the roll into the bag, pushing it in as far as it goes.</p><p>It’s not very far.</p><p>Three-fourths of the fabric bungle out of the bag, while the seam of the bag already looks like it could burst at any moment. Sander groans and tries to wiggle the cover around the sleeping bag, but it doesn’t give an inch.</p><p>“Seriously?” he whines.</p><p>Robbe wants to kiss the pout off his lips.</p><p>He doesn’t, though, because more than kissing Sander, he really just wants to finally <em>leave</em>.</p><p>With combined efforts and a whole lot of creative swearing, they eventually manage to get the sleeping bags mostly covered, just a corner of the fabric peeking out.</p><p>They deem it good enough, and after stashing the tent back in its cover (disassembling goes a lot smoother than assembling, it turns out), they trek over to the small station about a kilometre away from the camping grounds.</p><p>The platform is deserted except for a woman with her dog at the far end, and Sander and Robbe splay themselves out across the row of seats in the middle.</p><p>Sander’s got his head resting on Robbe’s thighs and a sleeping bag stuffed under his legs, while Robbe sits slumped against the other sleeping bag and their backpack.</p><p>“This is way more comfortable than that stupid air mattress,” Sander murmurs.</p><p>Robbe has to agree. “I love you a lot,” he tells Sander, “but this was the absolute last time I’ve shared a tent with you.”</p><p>“Ditto.” Sander puckers his lips and Robbe leans down to meet him in a kiss, tasting the faint remnants of chocolate croissants on his tongue.</p><p>They doze off in the warm rays of the sun, Robbe’s dark jeans just a tad too hot to be truly comfortable. He’s not complaining though, after the freezing cold last night.</p><p>Their peaceful slumber is disturbed by the station announcer’s tinny voice coming through the speakers, announcing that the two o’clock train to Brussels has a delay of approximately forty-five minutes.</p><p>It’s a fitting way to finish their mishaps-filled camping adventure, and Robbe doesn’t even have the energy left to complain about it. He’s semi-comfortable on the platform seats, the sun is out in full force, and he’s got his favourite boy in his arms.</p><p>Life could be worse.</p><p>☆</p><p>(When they finally make it back home by dinner time, Robbe posts a picture on his Instagram Stories, one he snuck of Sander the previous day where he’s looking up at the sky with a wide smile, the sun making his skin glow golden, eyes crinkled up in the corners. He adds a fragment of David Bowie’s <em>Rebel Rebel</em> for memories’ sake and captions the whole thing with <em>camping: zero stars. company: five stars</em>.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>robbe and sander have 1 brain cell collectively.</p><p>Comments and kudos make me smile!<br/>Find me on Twitter: @nothingbutniall</p></blockquote></div></div>
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